Crazy
by Lyn Harkeran
Summary: A glimpse into Harley's past and her madness. Angst, drama, feels. Originally posted on Deviantart


**~ Crazy ~**

* * *

She smiled. Not because she felt happy or elated, but due to the adrenaline. It pumped through her veins like a narcotic, making her hands shake as they swung by her sides.

Her light blue eyes glinted maniacally in the dim light of the department store. Unshed tears rose to mist her gaze as she frantically looked about the countless racks of clothing. For a time, she jerkily walked among them, letting her bared hand rake across the different textures. Until she found _it._

It wasn't the feel of the cloth that made her stop, but rather the color that sparked in her view. It was bright in the darkness, calling out to her giddily, as she stopped before the last rack. On a piece of cardboard posted above the clothing, in festive bubble script, it announced that these selections were in fact _costumes._ It was almost poetic, in a way. She wanted to reach out and grab it immediately, but her mind wasn't connected to her body, and her reactions were more than a little delayed.

One bad day. . . One simple choice and it was all coming down.

Once more the shaky hands grazed across the collection, though the one that had originally caught her eye wouldn't allow her to ignore it forever.

The woman pulled the specific hanger off and held up the costume for inspection. And the smile grew into a face splitting grin.

It was _beautiful_. It peppered her in black and red kisses. And it knew her name _all too well_.

Harleen giggled as she clung to the precious red and black suit. She hadn't thought to wear something so clown like. . . But somehow, the Harlequin outfit felt _right_. It was as if a great weight had been lifted, the moment she saw it and took it for her own.

Red and black, like the roses her favorite patient (and true love) had given her in secret. Red like his jovial grin when he told a joke. Black like the shadows of Arkham and the rest of the city. Gotham and _him. . ._ her greatest joys and deepest despairs.

It beckoned to Harleen like nothing else, and she found herself unwilling to walk away.

She began to strip where she stood, modesty having long since left, as she let the new clothing encase her completely. Her lab coat and smart pencil skirt were long forgotten, as she kicked them to the corner.

The black and red fit like a second skin, and caressed her gently as she straightened up. It was comfortable, and surprisingly flexible- something that she had not even thought about before that second.

As she looked back down, she noticed that there was another article she had missed on the discarded hanger. . .

It was a jester's hat to match the suit, with little bobbles on the end.

Harleen instantly put it on.

And as she smoothed her hands against the red and black surface, she turned to look in one of the department store mirrors that lined the far wall.

Her face was still showing, but the rest of her had completely transformed into something different. . . something _new._

It excited her to no end, and Harleen giggled to herself as she began to put on the final touches.

She had grabbed two cans of face paint, one black and one white, from the front of the store. Now she began to apply them. This took a minute, and by now she could hear wailing sirens in the distance. The cops were coming. It wasn't surprising. When someone broke into a store after hours, it was a natural response. . . . Though it was the first time that Harleen had ever been on the other side of it. . . Her first time breaking the law. . . All for _him._ And for herself too.

As Harleen smothered the skin around her eyes in the black paint, she formed it around her eyebrows, so it looked like a mask.

Slowly, as she massaged the paint into place, Harleen Quinzel disappeared. She retreated from the manic clown that chased her, until the blonde, composed Psychiatrist vanished completely.

Only the clown remained.

Only the _**red**_ and the _**black**_.

And as she felt the makeup settle firmly on her face, the woman once more opened her light blue eyes to gaze into the mirror.

"Say hello . . . ta ya new and improved Harley Quinn~!"

* * *

Detective Diego Calavera took a long sip from his coffee, as he skimmed over his newest case file. His dark eyes jumped over the pages as he leafed through the contents expertly. After eight years of being a homicide cop in New York, and then another four as a detective in Gotham, he had learned how to take in information at a rapid pace.

As he downed the remnants of the stale coffee he grimaced. Damn GCPD. Couldn't make a good cup for anything. It was sad really. But sadly it kept him awake after a double shift, and that was worth the terrible aftertaste that washed over his offended taste buds.

The detective threw the empty foam cup into the nearby waste-bin, and returned his gaze back to the file. When Gordon had first handed him the manila folder, he hadn't understood his superior's choice. It was something that would be better suited to a Veteran officer or detective, who had been in Gotham longer. But somehow. . . it had been given to him.

"You'll be fine," Gordon had assured Diego calmly. "Just remember to find some common ground quickly, and to leave your pens outside the interrogation room. . . She can make almost anything into a weapon."

Currently, Diego let his dark brown eyes lift to the darkened glass, eyeing the woman he was meant to interrogate.

Harleen Quinzel, aka Harley Quinn, sat in all her unstable glory on the other side, wrapped in a straightjacket. Her makeup was smeared, her right eye was beginning to swell up, and underneath the jacket, pieces of her getup had been ripped or stained with blood.

It'd taken the Bat himself to bring her down tonight, but the Dark Knight had been unable to speak with her himself. Joker was still loose- with what they supposed was a bomb- and the Batman was needed elsewhere. So the impossible task of getting Harley to talk had been laid upon the GCPD. . . Unless the Caped Crusader was able to find the Demented Clown first.

"You ready, Calavera?"

Diego nodded once to Gordon. "Yeah. Anything else I should know about her?"

Gordon thought. "You've read her profile, watched the news, been on shift when she's gotten into trouble."

"Yes sir."

"Then you know enough." Gordon's eyes were tired, but still held encouragement. "The only way to learn with her is experience. It's how all of us have had to do it, son. You're the best choice tonight. Most of the squad is out in the field looking for Joker, while the rest of us are trying to hold down the fort. It has to be you."

Diego had figured as much. Though he didn't say as much as he nodded to Gordon.

The detective handed his ballpoint pen to the Commissioner, before he began to type in the key code for the interrogation room door. "Hang onto this for me, Chief?"

"Sure, Calavera. Watch yourself in there."

Diego saluted Jim Gordon with his pointer and middle fingers at his brow, before he entered the lion's den.

* * *

The moment the door clicked closed behind him, her eyes were glued to him. It was somewhat unnerving, seeing as her makeup was smeared horrifically about her paled face. But the detective didn't let his discomfort show as he steadily walked over to the table and took the seat opposite her. He had left the case file with Gordon, seeing as Miss Quinzel was known to pitch a fit when she saw the manila folders. Something about her past experience, before she went bonkers. . . not that it was very clear.

The man let his hands rest in his lap, and met her gaze without hesitation. As his dark eyes held her light blue ones, the woman's mouth transformed into a smile.

"Hey there! Where's Gordy? Or Montoya-baby? They busy ta'night?" When he didn't reply, she paused before adding. "Or are they just breakin' in the fresh meat?"

Diego looked at her calmly, getting her meaning, though he didn't rise to meet it. There wasn't a need.

"Miss Quinzel, I need to ask you some questions, if you're willing to speak with me?"

Her grin grew. "Wooo weeee! You've got some manna's for a new guy, I'll give ya that!" She laughed for a breath. "Goodness, ya look familiar! Have we met before?"

"No, we haven't."

She looked thoughtful as she regarded him. "Well, ya have me at a disadvantage, sweetie! You know my name and I don't know yours!"

"Detective Diego Calavera," he offered.

She leaned forward in her seat, ignoring the straightjacket that was cutting into her, as she openly examined him. She held no shame as she looked him up and down, and she clicked her tongue when she finished.

"My, they sure have raised the standard, babes! You're the best looking coppa I've eva seen! I swear I know ya! . . . . . SO who'd ya have ta kiss up to, ta get here, Go-Go?"

Gordon had warned him that Quinzel came up with nicknames for everyone she met, but he hadn't thought that "Go-Go" would be the first choice for him.

"No kissing was necessary," he said mildly amused, despite his best efforts. She was crazy, to be sure, but also very guileless in a ditsy sort of way. She was almost similar to a child, the way her attention drifted.

"That's a relief," she crowed happily, as if they were old friends. "Would hate fer yeh ta get stuck on somebody's backside! HahahahahahhHHH!"

Diego waited for her giggles to subside before he pressed again. He had been warned that she had certain triggers, so he made sure to keep his tone even and his phrasing accommodating.

"Can I ask you some questions, Miss Quinzel?"

"Sure!" She shrugged to the best of her ability in her confines. "We can get ta know each other betta! Hahaha~! You're probably the only coppa in Gotham that I don't know!"

"I have been told that you've spoken with most of the members on the Force, at one time or another," he admitted.

"That's what happens when ya become a frequent visitor!" Her eyes were twinkling as she stared at him. "People rememba ya name when ya don't let em forget it."

"Your philosophy?"

"Yah." Then she added eyes drifting toward the tabletop, "And my puddin's."

The Joker. He had figured that she would bring him up on her own. For she _had_ been labeled obsessive in every Psych Evaluation she'd ever taken.

"Do you know where he is, Miss Quinzel?"

Her eyes snapped up to regard him, a strange expression taking hold of her face. "I'm no squealah, Go-Go. Ask ya questions, but I'm not sayin' a word about where Mistah J is."

Diego held up his hands in a surrender gesture. "Fair enough. We can come back to that in a moment."

"Keep telling ya self that. . . Oh and babes, one otha thing."

"Yes?" He waited.

"No more stuffy titles, ya got it! Call me Harley," she said, becoming instantly happy again. "Everyone does!"

"Alright Harley," he consented. ". . . Would you be opposed to telling me how you got here?"

"B-man kicked the crappola out of me, Go-Go! Then he threw me ta Gordy for safe keeping while he looks fer my man!" She giggled again.

"I meant before that."

Her face twisted comically. "Before that? . . . But you've read my case file, sweetie. Surely ya know all about Arkham and my internship? Ya know that they teach a class now before they let their interns through the door- all thanks ta me."

"I am aware," he said. "But I would be like to hear the facts in your own words."

Harley's face once more shifted, though the silly expression slowly died and was replaced by a solemnness she hadn't shown him before. She seemed almost sane as she looked at him and sighed quietly.

"It's not a glamourous story, Detective. You're better off not knowing."

Her accent disappeared almost completely for a second, catching him off guard, as her tone became deeper and less ditsy. She seemed lucid as she leaned back in her chair.

"You know what my puddin' says?" She asked with unreadable blue eyes. "That it only takes one bad day to be reduced to insanity. . . One bad day. . . So just imagine what kinda day the two of us must have had. . ."

Diego would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't surprised by the statement, and Harley clearly saw it in the brief second he showed his hand, for her smile grew bittersweet.

"Oh, I _know_ I'm crazy, sweetie. I don't need a shrink ta tell me that."

* * *

As Diego Calavera exited the interrogation room some thirty minutes later, without the whereabouts of the Joker, he was met by an exhausted looking Jim Gordon.

The Commissioner returned the Detective's pen to him before saying, "The Batman just caught Joker. He had a bomb as expected, but it's been disarmed and he's on his way back to Arkham lockdown."

Diego looked back to the glass. Harley was now swinging from side to side, singing to herself in her high pitched trill.

"So my _visit_ with Miss Quinzel was pointless."

"I wouldn't say that." He gave the younger man a weary smile. "You made an impression on Harley. That's a step in the right direction."

Diego's face remained still, giving nothing away. "But what direction comes next, Commissioner?"

"Arkham would probably be the safest guess." Gordon chuckled before he patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave. "Goodnight Calavera. Go home and get some rest. You've earned it."

"Goodnight, sir," he responded, as he shifted his attention from his departing superior, back to the clown behind the glass.

For a long time, he watched her, his brain churning as he studied the broken woman. She most definitely was _broken,_ but seemed to be happily so. Except for that one moment of clarity. . . It had almost been like he'd been talking to another person. Perhaps Doctor Quinzel had seen fit to peak out and greet him. . . Or perhaps he had just imagined her lucidity after all.

Whichever was the case, it would be on his mind for a long time to come.

In the interrogation room, Harley singing changed, catching his attention. It was a song he knew, though her rendition was dark and chilling in comparison.

* * *

" _ **I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind.**_

 _ **There was something so pleasant about that place**_

 _ **Even your emotions had an echo, in so much space.**_

 _ **And when you're out there, without care, yeah, I was out of touch.**_

 _ **But it wasn't because I didn't know enough. . .**_

 _ **I just knew too much.**_

 _ **Does that make me crazy?**_

 _ **Does that make me crazy?**_

 _ **Does that make me crazy?**_

 _ **Probably. . .**_

 _ **Well, Maybe I'm crazy.**_

 _ **Maybe you're crazy.**_

 _ **Maybe we're crazy.**_

 _ **Probably. . ."**_

* * *

Diego felt the hair on his arms raise, for as she had finished singing her eyes had looked at him directly, though the glass was completely tinted.

Her strange light blue eyes seemed to visibly study him again, and her smile was wide. Recognition sparked in her features as she began to laugh and lean against her straightjacket.

"Welcome ta the family, Go-Go," she called out jovially. "And tell yer cousin Dora hello fah me!"

* * *

 **A/N:** A story for my dear friend Rhoder who has a weakness for all things Batman (like myself). 3

This story was based specifically _**Crazy**_ by _ **Gnarls Barkley.**_ It has always reminded me of Harley for some reason, and I figured now was a good time to share it. XD

I honestly don't know where this story went. . . It took a life of it's own and I think I might be coming back for some more Diego/Harley dynamic down the line. I kinda left it open for that purpose. ^^

To hear more about Dora (Diego's cousin ) check out my previous story: _**Midnight Rendezvous.**_

 _ **~Lyn**_


End file.
